Hope Looks Up
by Mother Nature's Daughter
Summary: “You look back and despair at what’s happened. Then you look ahead and despair at what’s to come. Don’t you know where to look, boy?” As the journey to Mount Doom grows worse, Sam gets unlikely help from the memories of his Gaffer's voice. Oneshot.


**Author's Notage to the First Power: **This is a random little snippet (placed somewhere during the journey in Mordor towards Mount Doom) that I wrote one night because…well, I don't really know why I wrote it, but I did. And it actually survived the editing and rereading process, so here it is for your reading enjoyment. I hope you like it; it's short, but sweet. Please leave us a review with your comments before going away!

**Disclaimer:** The genius-ness of Tolkien claims all.

"**Hope Looks Up"**

Frodo could not go on much farther; he was so close to his breaking point already. Sam looked at him with pity and love, and past the weeping and despair in his heart he felt a shudder of revulsion, disgust. Not at Mr. Frodo, no, never…he was disgusted with that—that _thing_ around his neck, that _One Ring_. Look at what that wretched thing was doing to his master!

He could barely stand, let alone walk; his breath came in gasps, as if every breath drawn was one of the deepest torture. And he moved so slowly after Sam, so close to the ground he might not be walking at all but rather crawling: dragging himself along after his faithful friend, using all of what little strength he had left.

And all the time Mount Doom loomed over them in the distance, a constant source of dread.

Sam was no better off than his own beloved master was: he was exhausted, half-starved, dehydrated…and he too felt the doom of this forsaken land, Mordor. He was in agony; and no doubt he looked every bit like a corpse, but for the strangled gasps ripping from his chest, burning his lungs. It was hard to breathe here admist all this evil.

"Let's rest a bit, Mr. Frodo," he said, "before we go on." Immediately Frodo collapsed where he lay, looking as much like a dead thing as Sam felt. Sam sat down at his side, pulling his master's head into his lap.

He gazed at Frodo's face, wishing he could see it as it was before and not as it is now. He remembered how happy and carefree it had been home in the Shire, and it hurt his heart to see the tortured despair on his features now, the blackness in his eyes rather than laughter and twinkling.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, his voice shaky and weepy with exhaustion and despair. "What are we going to do? How will we make it to Mount Doom when we're already so tired?" He closed his eyes, cradling the unconscious Frodo in his lap.

And that's when Sam heard the voices, like whispering in his ears. The talking in his head, like insane folk get sometimes when they go crazy. Well, Sam figured, he supposed he had enough reason to loose his mind right now. Or maybe he was dying, and the voices were those of the angels come to take him away—he certainly _felt_ like he was dying, at any rate.

But then Sam got a grip on himself; he wasn't going crazy, and he wasn't dying. Least ways, not yet. But there _were_ voices, and they were talking to him in his head. His eyes remained closed as he concentrated on listening to what they were saying…and he discovered that he knew these voices.

Gandalf's voice was the first he heard, telling him some words of wisdom that he had been far too young (or at least, he didn't really care) to understand at the time when they had been spoken in the Shire. But now Sam was reminded of what the old Wizard had said.

"_Hope is a very dangerous thing to lose, Sam."_

Oh, but it _was_ lost! Gone, gone forever—Mr. Frodo lay unmoving his arms, too weak even now to wake. They would never make it. Sam had not meant to lose hope; it had been taken from him. He did not know how to get it back.

Another voice joined the previous one. It was his old Gaffer now (oh, how vividly he remembered his father's voice!); and he would not let Sam give up now, not when they had come so far, and tried so hard. Not when they were so close.

_"Now you listen here, Samwise Gamgee. You look back and despair at what's happened. Then you look ahead and despair at what's to come. Don't you know where to look, boy?"_

No. He didn't.

_"Don't look back, boy,"_ his Gaffer's voice said,_ "you can't change the past. Don't look ahead, neither… today's troubles are enough for today."_

Sam shuddered. What was he trying to say to himself, remembering this now? What did his Gaffer mean by those words? And where—just _where_—was he supposed to look, if not behind or ahead? Maybe he really was losing his mind.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo," he said, stroking his master's hair. "We've come so far…but can we go any farther?" Subconsciously, he pulled Frodo closer to him, trying to shield him from the inevitable doom. And all the time he was thinking about how he loved Frodo, and how he hated that he had let him down. He had not gotten Frodo and the Ring to Mount Doom. He had failed; but what else could he do? He didn't know what else to do.

And then his Gaffer spoke again, continuing like there had been no pause between now and his last words.

_"Sorrow looks back; worry looks ahead. Hope, Samwise Gamgee… Hope looks up. Towards the heavens and the angels, Sam; hope will look up."_

"Hope," Sam repeated slowly, wrapping his mind around the words; "hope…looks…_up_."

And so Samwise Gamgee raised his head high, and looked with desperate eyes up to the heavens. And the darkness of Mordor was everywhere, even above his head. But past that, so far away—farther than even the eagles flew—was a tiny, little patch of light, fearlessly shining in bright contrast to the doom around him.

And then Samwise Gamgee knew. Darkness could not last forever…light would shine through eventually. Evil could not last forever…good would win out eventually. Failure could not last forever…victory would come eventually.

And so Sam Gamgee realized that all he and Mr. Frodo had to do was keep going until it did come. They just had to hold on a little longer, push themselves a little harder—because hope was here, and victory was coming.


End file.
